"I suppose by this time you have become so inflated that the honest truth would be rather unpalatable to you; nevertheless, I am going to send you a few plain words. The rest of the world flatters you--I shall do no such thing. You have written tolerably, all things considered, but you violate all established rules of composition, and are as lawless and erratic as a comet. You may startle and dazzle, but you are fit only to throw people out of their orbits. Now and then, there's a gleam of something like reason in your writings, but for the most part they are unmitigated trash--false in sentiment--unrhetorical in expression; in short, were you my daughter, which I thank a good Providence you are not, I should box your ears, and keep you on a bread and water diet till you improved. That you can do better, if you will, I am very sure, and that is why I take the pains to find fault, and tell you what none of your fawning friends will. "You are not a genius--no, madam, not by many removes; Shakspeare was a genius--Milton was a genius--the author of 'History of the Dark Ages,' which has reached its fifteenth edition, was a genius--(you may not know you have now the honor of being addressed by him;) no, madam, you are not a genius, nor have I yet seen a just criticism of your writings; they are all either over-praised, or over-abused; you have a certain sort of talent, and that talent, I grant you, is peculiar; but a genius--no, no, Mrs., or Miss, or Madam Floy--you don't approach genius, though I am not without a hope that, if you are not spoiled by injudicious, sycophantic admirers, you may yet produce something creditable; although I candidly confess, that it is my opinion, that the _female_ mind is incapable of producing anything which may be strictly termed _literature_. "Your honest friend, WILLIAM STEARNS. "Prof. of Greek, Hebrew, and Mathematics, in Hopetown College, and author of 'History of the Dark Ages.'" "Oh vanity! thy name is William Stearns," said Ruth. CHAPTER LXXVI. "Have you ever submitted your head to a phrenological examination?" asked Mr. Walter, as he made a call on Ruth, the next morning. "No," said Ruth; "I believe that much more is to be told by the expression of people's faces than by the bumps upon their heads." "And you a woman of sense!" replied Mr. Walter. "Will you have your head examined to please me? I should like to know what Prof. Finman would say of you, before I leave town." "Well--yes--I don't mind going," said Ruth, "provided the Professor does not know his subject, and I see that there's fair play," said she, laughing; "but I warn you, beforehand, that I have not the slightest faith in the science." Ruth tied on her bonnet, and was soon demurely seated in the Professor's office, with her hair about her shoulders. Mr. Walter sat at a table near, prepared to take notes in short-hand.